56 THE TROUT ARE RISING 
and the old man went off, walking away with a 
“Good morning, and thank you, sir.” He was 
one of the world’s business men, who do not stop 
to praise the goods, the bargain once struck. It 
had been a pleasant little transaction, with a touch 
of the unusual about it. Wayside scenes like 
this, when we get just a little underneath the 
surface, lend colour to life, add something of 
human interest. The collar fasteners were useful, 
even if severely plain, and perhaps had a certain 
young, immaculately-dressed, brother officer, when 
reporting at an officers’ course, only worn one of 
them, he might have escaped the greeting he got 
from a superior :—‘ Good morning, young man, 
hayen’t you forgotten something?” Looking 
himself up and down, the Tudor-cum-Plantagenet 
one replied, “ No, sir, I don’t think so,” only to 
be overwhelmed with, ‘“ Haven’t you forgotten 
your ear-rings, young man?” 
Good trout fishing is to be had in a loch, 
Clearburn, about three miles from Tushielaw. 
The use of a boat is not allowed in this loch. 
When on its banks, at certain spots, you have to 
be careful of the going because of the soft peat. 
Andrew Lang has paid a memorable tribute to 
Clearburn and its quagmires. 
Tushielaw is only three miles from Ettrick, 
where the Ettrick Shepherd was born and where 
his remains are buried. In the Fly Fishers’ Club 
in London is a reel, underneath which is this 
inscription :—“ This fishing reel formerly belonged 
to James Hogg, the ‘Ettrick Shepherd.’ Pre- 
